


So There Was This Love Story...

by disparity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Amnesia, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8104237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disparity/pseuds/disparity
Summary: Hawke never meant any harm—she was just trying to do something nice for her friends. But when one of her mad magical experiments goes wrong, it somehow ends with both Anders and Fenris utterly convinced that they've been married to each other for the last four years. They're definitely going to kill her when they find out. If they find out.Fill for this kmeme prompt: Anders and Fenris end up losing their memories at the same time, and somehow assume they're married. Others don't dare to say otherwise in fear of making their mental states worse (or because it's just too funny).





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly humor and fluff and me trying to make a really fun prompt more plausible by hurling magic at it. I just need more adorable Fenders in my life.
> 
> The formatting got a bit funny here, so for clarity's sake, the stars (***) indicate moving in between the “story” and current events, and the dashes (- - -) indicate moving forward along the current timeline. I promise it's not as confusing as it sounds.

In hindsight, Hawke thought it was probably inevitable that all her tinkering with strange magical objects would eventually have disastrous consequences. This, though? This she did not see coming.

She stared open-mouthed at Fenris' arm around Anders' waist. “Explain yourself, mage,” said Fenris, though the word lacked its usual hostility. Fenris was not calling her _mage_ because he was irritated with her; he was doing it because _he didn't know her name_.

“Yeah, Hawke,” Varric concurred, whipping out a quill and parchment from Maker-knew-where. “Why don't you explain? Slowly.”

Hawke took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay,” she exhaled. “But only if everyone promises not to dismember or otherwise mortally wound me when I'm done. Or at any point during the story. Or several weeks later, after my guard's down.”

“I don't like the sound of this.” Anders looked at her like she was a deformed stray cat, and he wasn't sure whether to adopt her out of pity or kick her out before she got into the food. “But we ought to at least hear her out if she knows how to get our memories back.”

“I do.” Hawke nodded quickly. “Definitely.”

She didn't. At all. It was fortunate that Fenris and Anders couldn't remember her tells.

“I'm beginning to suspect it's her fault we lost them,” said Fenris shrewdly to Anders.

“It might be,” he agreed. “But we can at least promise not to kill her. Don't you think, love?”

Fenris grunted. “Only if she swears to right us.”

“Just as soon we say, 'The End.'” That ought to give her some time to work out how in the Void she was going to reverse this. She babbled on, “I swear to the Maker and Mythal and, er... that one dwarven god. With the spectacular beard.”

“Dwarves don't have gods,” said Varric.

“Dammit. I knew that.” Hawke ran a hand through her hair. “Well, you get the point. I'll start at the beginning, then, shall I?”

Varric nodded and said, “That's usually the best place.”

“Alright. Well. So there was this dragon...”

***

Hawke had always loved dragons. They were big and loud, and they breathed _fire_. So, obviously.

“Hawke,” said Anders patiently. “That dragon is killing people. You can't make friends with it.”

“But it's just _misunderstood_ ,” she whined.

She'd been moping for the entire walk to the Bone Pit. She was still considering the merits of defeating the dragon with the power of friendship. Or entropy magic? Or anything besides lethal force, really.

Sebastian gave her an odd look. “Your penchant for befriending hostile creatures is admirable. And very concerning.”

“Well,” said Anders with a sardonic chuckle, “she befriended Fenris, didn't she?”

“Anders. That's unkind.”

Anders groaned in response. “Maker, you're no _fun_. Remind me why you brought _both_ of them, Hawke? Are you trying to send me running back into the Deep Roads to hug a broodmother? Because as nasty as those tentacles are, they've got nothing on Fenris' glare.”

“Or my broadsword,” said Fenris pointedly.

“Everyone be nice, dammit!” Hawke screeched. “I brought you because I need you. All of you. Fenris can maneuver better than Aveline. Anders is the best healer in Thedas. I only want one melee fighter to keep the dragon's attention, and Varric's bolts might be more effective at piercing the dragon's hide, but Sebastian is better from a distance.”

“So we agree on that,” said Anders.

Hawke reached around to thwack him over the head with her staff, but he was ready for it. He ducked, and the staff would have hit Sebastian if he didn't catch it deftly in his hand.

“Save it for the dragon, Hawke,” said Sebastian with a hint of reproach.

Maker, but he was a bore.

The dragon was exciting, though. Hawke wasn't happy to kill it, but it was a damn good fight, and she felt much better after looking over the spoils. Anders and Fenris had started bickering as soon as the fight ended, and Hawke had to break them up so they could help gather the loot.

She really was just sick of the way they went after each other. She usually made a point not to bring them along together, but there were times her healing just wouldn't cut it, and Aveline didn't have a lot of free time these days with Meredith running rampant through Kirkwall. She had to take them together more and more, and she was baffled and _almost_ impressed that they _still_ found things to argue about, after all these years.

Their arms were filled with loot from the dragon's hoard on the way back to Kirkwall. Hawke was pleased, and even Fenris and Anders' quarreling couldn't spoil her mood. They returned with a few more friends to strip the dragon of its scales and collect its bone to use in Hawke's tentative plans for a new set of armor. Varric and Isabela had drawn up an outfit that she just fell in love with, and she was determined to find someone who could make it for her.

It took weeks to track down an eccentric couple who claimed to have crafted dragon-bone armor for the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight. The smith was overjoyed to the point of tears when she showed him the sketch, and his husband and business parter Herren was quick to give her an outrageous cost approximation, which she paid in full, upfront.

It turned out that she had _extra_ dragon-bone, and Wade was bursting with ideas for more armor and weapons. He explained that dragon-bone took well to enchanting, and Hawke set her heart on matching enchanted rings for all her friends. Herren said the detail work would be extremely costly, and Wade chastised him for taking advantage of a rich fool.

Sandal enchanted the rings specific to each party member, and Hawke bounced in excitement as she handed them out. She did Anders and Fenris last, adding a few of her own enchantments to their rings.

Hawke couldn't properly enchant anything without lyrium, and she couldn't get anywhere near lyrium without going mad, but she could still weave her magic into the dragon-bone. It wouldn't last like lyrium enchantments did, but it'd give them an extra boost for awhile. Fenris' enchantment was meant to help ease his lyrium-phasing, and Anders' was specially tailored to healing.

She was quite proud of her work, when she finished. She didn't even blow anything up.

***

“Is not blowing things up an accomplishment for you?” asked Anders slowly. His expression wavered between amusement and wariness.

“Yes,” said Varric. He was bent over his parchment, still scribbling fervently, and he didn't look up.

Hawke winced. “But it wasn't my fault!” she insisted. “I mean, it was probably my fault. But I didn't mean to?” She whined in her throat. “I was just trying to do something nice!”

“But how did your enchantment wipe our memories?” Anders looked thoughtful. “That would have to be powerful magic, especially if it was unintentional.”

Hawke had no idea what had caused the memory wipe, but she was _not_ going to say that anywhere Fenris might hear it. He was already glaring at her, and he didn't even remember any of the vastly irritating things she'd done to him over the years.

“Er,” she started, eloquently, tapping her fingers on the long table in Varric's suite. “Why don't we finish the story first? I'm not clear on what exactly happened to you two. You just... woke up with no memories?”

“Not quite,” said Fenris coldly.

Anders reached up to rub Fenris' shoulder in soothing circles, the gesture casual and intimate. Hawke winced again. They were both going to kill her for this. She was so very, very dead.

Anders murmured something in Fenris' ear that Hawke didn't catch. Fenris sighed, then nodded. “Well,” said Anders. “I guess it's my turn, then.”

***

When Anders came to, the first thing he noticed was the smell. It was like piss and rotted flesh, and the very first thing he did was turn to his side and retch. It wasn't a fantastic start to his morning.

His morning got significantly better, though, when he looked up to see a gorgeous elf kneeling next to him. White hair fell into his green eyes, and he regarded Anders with a wary expression.

“Are you alright?” asked the elf. He reached out tentatively before changing his mind and withdrawing the hand.

“I think I'm still asleep,” Anders replied dazedly. “Only my dreams don't usually smell this bad.”

His dreams usually... Well, he couldn't remember what his dreams were usually like, but they probably included absurdly attractive people. His head sort of hurt, and he felt like he was _gagging_ on the putrid air.

“What is your name?” asked the elf. He had a nice voice, that elf.

Anders was about to answer when he realized he actually didn't know the answer. He frowned. Obviously he _had_ a name. Everybody had a name. But just now he couldn't think of anyone that he knew that had one. He must know people. _Some_ people. One or two, at least?

The elf sighed. “It's Anders.”

“Hello, Anders,” said Anders.

“No,” said the elf. “You're Anders. I'm Fenris.”

“Oh. Hello, Fenris.”

Fenris' lips quirked in a half-smile as he said, “Hello. It appears we are both experiencing some memory loss.”

“That, er... That's not so good,” said Anders lamely. And here he was, making himself a fool in front of an attractive man. He may not have been able to remember it, but somehow he felt quite certain that this was a regular occurrence.

“Indeed.” Fenris offered him an arm. “Would you like to try standing? I have no desire to be in this place any longer than necessary.”

“Er... Not that I'm not _pleased_ that you're being so nice to a knob like me,” Anders started, slowly, “but... why are you? I mean, if neither of us remembers anything...”

Fenris gave him a wry look and began to remove one of his gauntlets. “I believe we're married,” he explained.

Anders' first reaction was to laugh in disbelief, but then Fenris offered up his bare hand as evidence. On one of his fingers was a delicate ring made of a strange material. The band was intricately woven, a marvelous amount of detail for such a small thing. Anders reached towards it.

That was when he noticed an identical ring on his own hand.

He stared at it, wide-eyed. He slipped it off his finger to look it over and found a name engraved inside. _Anders_. Well, that explained how Fenris knew his name. He must have a similar engraving on his own... _wedding_ ring.

Because there really was nothing else it could be. It was too exquisite to be any ordinary ring, and it was _engraved_. Maker, he had a husband. A very attractive husband.

“I can't believe it,” Anders muttered in wonder as he slipped the ring back on. He looked up to see a question on Fenris' features. Perhaps a trace of hurt. “Oh, I didn't mean...” he quickly backpedaled. “It's just, I don't know why you'd want to marry _me_. I'm not... Am I even attractive?”

He really couldn't recall what he looked like. That was bizarre. He ran a hand over his face, brushing over stubble and greasy hair. He was probably an unsightly menace.

“Quite,” said Fenris, and Anders looked up, startled.

“Oh. I, ah. Thank you.” Anders blushed. Maker damn it all. His husband was calling him attractive, and he was blushing. Quickly he added, “You're _very_ attractive. I mean. You're gorgeous. Why did you marry me, again?”

“I'm sure I had a good reason,” said Fenris with a small smile. He offered his hand again. “Come. We can figure this out someplace with a less offensive smell.”

“Right. I can hardly _think_ in here.”

Anders took his _husband's_ hand and held it as they walked through the... was this a sewer? What were they doing in a sewer? Hopefully this wasn't where they lived. Fenris was too pretty to live in a sewer. They probably had a nice house somewhere, on a farm maybe, with lots of open spaces and several cats.

There was a bit of debris that glowed faintly as they passed. Anders stopped. He looked to Fenris, whose hand hovered above the hilt of his weapon. “Be careful,” he warned.

Anders warmed a little. How nice to have someone to care about him. He may not have known very much about himself, but he knew that he was a lucky man.

He inspected the discarded item, which appeared to be magical. In the dim light, it took Anders a moment to realize that it was a piece of a staff. The rest of it was splintered around the orb that had drawn his attention.

“It's a mage's staff, I think,” he said to Fenris.

“Is it yours?”

Anders' brow furrowed. Was it? He wasn't carrying a weapon, and he _did_ have on a set of robes. He held out his palm, turning it upwards. He flexed his fingers and concentrated on his palm, not quite sure what he was doing even as he did it. When fire suddenly appeared in his hand, he gasped. A blue barrier flickered beneath the flames, to protect his skin from the heat. He hadn't even thought of it.

“I suppose it must be,” he murmured. “Huh.”

“You're a mage.” Fenris' voice was hard. Anders stood up and turned back around to face him.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Fenris' brow furrowed. “I... don't know,” he said uncertainly. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Oh. Sorry.” The fire went out with a simple thought. “Well, I won't do it unless I have to. Don't know what we'll find down here.” He glanced around thoughtfully as he asked, “Do you think we were being chased? I can't figure out why else we'd be in a sewer. Or why my staff would be broken like this.”

“Perhaps our pursuers caught us and altered our memories.” He pursed his lips. “With magic.”

***

“So did you find anyone in the sewers?” asked Hawke, holding out hope that maybe this wasn't _entirely_ her fault.

“No,” said Fenris, and Hawke flinched just a tad to hear him talk, even though he didn't sound angry anymore. “We left the sewers for Darktown.”

***

Fenris led Anders from the sewers, keeping a wary eye out for anything more suspicious than the rats that skittered along in their wake. He knew that he was not the sort of man who would allow harm to befall his husband. It was his duty to protect Anders, and if that was the only thing he knew for certain, he could not fail.

They made it back to some form of civilization, even if the people they passed were ragged and thin. Fenris supposed anyone who lived this close to a sewer must be poor. His own fine weapons and armor, as well as the gold in his coin-purse, led him to believe that he and Anders lived somewhere else.

“Do you suppose anyone will come looking for us?” asked Anders, his face lined with concern.

Fenris would have tightened his grip on Anders' hand, were he not wearing metal gauntlets. It was difficult enough to keep the spikes on his armor away from Anders. Fenris got the feeling he didn't hold hands much.

“I'm sure you have friends,” Fenris replied.

“But not you?”

He frowned. “I don't think I'm the friendly type.”

“Well,” said Anders, “you've got me, at least.”

“And I'm grateful for it.”

As disconcerting as it was to lose his memories, he reasoned that it would be worse alone. Anders was good company, and he seemed to be intelligent. If it was magic they were fighting, it would be useful to have a mage on his side. He could look past the way Anders' magic unsettled him.

“What if we have kids?” asked Anders suddenly. “Or a cat? I can't imagine not having a cat, actually. What if our cat starves because we can't find our house?”

“I'm sure our cat is intelligent enough to find its own food,” said Fenris reasonably. He was grinning despite himself. The expression felt a little strange on his face.

It didn't calm Anders. “What about our kids?” he went on. “They can't find their own food.”

“I don't think we have any children.”

“Why not? Don't you want children?”

Fenris stopped, placing his hand on Anders' shoulder. “Anders,” he said placatingly. “I'm sure we can have this discussion later. The important thing right now is restoring our memories.”

“Well, how are we supposed to _do_ that?” Anders asked, then immediately answered his own question. “I think we should find our house. We should ask someone where it is. Then all our stuff will be there, and maybe when we see it, we'll remember... things.”

“Perhaps we should find out where we are, first.”

“Right. Good idea.” Anders stopped a passing woman with a smile and a friendly, “Hello there. I'm sorry to bother you, but could you tell me where we are?”

“Nowhere you want to be,” said the woman.

Anders laughed as if she'd told a particularly funny joke. “I'm sure you're right, but I was hoping for a name, if you wouldn't mind.”

“It's Darktown, love. And your friend there ought to scram before the Coterie decides to teach him a lesson for being armed in their territory.”

“Darktown is a district of Kirkwall,” Fenris rattled off, the information coming easily. “We're in the Free Marches.”

Anders nodded and said to the woman, “Thank you very much. And, er...” He reached a hand around to scratch at the back of his neck. “This must sound strange, but would you happen to know either of us?”

The woman gave him a funny look. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, recognition in her eyes. “You look a bit like that healer,” she offered. “Took my husband to 'im once, couple years past. Nice fellow. Don't charge a copper. He's got a clinic 'round here.”

“Really?” Anders shot him a hopeful look. “Do you know where it is?”

“S'pose I could take you there, if you are him. He always did seem a bit funny in the head.”

Anders thanked her profusely, even offering his arm to escort her. She gave him that same look and declined, though she seemed perfectly happy to chatter about her husband on the way there. Anders listened and asked questions and chuckled every so often. Fenris followed a few steps behind, somewhat bemused.

They reached the clinic in short time, and Anders offered to have her in for tea. The woman, whose name was Marla, patted him on the arm and told him to get some rest.

Fenris watched her walk away with a furrowed brow. “I'm still not certain how you managed that.”

“Apparently, I am extremely charming,” said Anders, preening a bit before he opened the door with something of a dramatic flair. Fenris rolled his eyes.

The inside of the clinic was lined with cots and several cabinets which contained healing supplies. In the back room was a desk littered with pages inked with indecipherable scrawl, which Anders skimmed and snorted at. (“Well, I'm a bit of a prat,” he said candidly.) There was also a small cot, which contained a single decorative pillow that Anders frowned at.

“This is in Ander,” he said, running his fingers over the embroidered words. “I suppose it's mine. It would explain why I'm called Anders, anyway.”

“I'm from Tevinter,” Fenris offered, for lack of something better to say. “Or so I presume. I know the language.”

Anders looked up, his brow furrowed. “An elf from Tevinter? Do you think you were a slave?”

“It is a reasonable assumption,” he concluded. “And a mage from the Anderfels? It is strange for both of us to find ourselves in Kirkwall.”

“Maybe we were both running,” Anders suggested. “Although I must've stopped. Marla said this clinic's been here... six years, was it? Do you think you've been here that long?”

“I'm not certain,” answered Fenris.

They explored the room a bit more, finding several personal possessions. Anders did not seem to recall any of them as his. Among them was a staff, which he twirled in his hands, grinning. The sight of it made Fenris smile, too. He felt much better knowing that Anders had some way to protect himself, in case they were separated.

“Well, this wasn't as helpful as I hoped,” said Anders awhile later, after they'd combed the clinic for clues regarding who they were and what had happened to them. “This stuff could belong to anyone, and I wouldn't know the difference.”

“It seems this won't be quite so easy. Perhaps we should search out this Hawke.”

Marla had mentioned that they were known associates of the Champion of Kirkwall, a woman called Hawke. She suggested that they venture to a tavern in Lowtown in search of her. (“She's got an estate up in Hightown,” Marla had said, “but I hear you're more like to find her at The Hanged Man. Rumor is she's one helluva drunk.”)

Anders agreed, and he managed to get them very detailed directions from an unfriendly-looking man in a tattered cloak. Anders' charm was apparently irresistible. The reasons for marrying him were getting clearer all the time.

It was dusk by the time they got to the tavern. Patrons decorated the stained tables, a lively crowd full of disreputable types. The liveliest of them all was a woman with a very generous bosom, who glittered with gold jewelry as she sang some sort of sea chanty, knocking back drinks between verses.

Anders and Fenris shared a look, and Anders led the way to the bar. Before he could properly greet the woman, she shouted both of their names and leapt forward to embrace Fenris. He froze, giving Anders an alarmed look. Anders laughed.

“Well, hello to you too,” said Anders as Fenris awkwardly patted the woman on the back. “Would you happen to be Hawke?”

“I'm drunk is what I am, and you're about eight whiskeys too sober.” She let go of Fenris to slam her hand down on the bar. “Two for my friends!” she ordered, and then pointed at Anders. “And you're drinking it no matter what your cranky spirit says.”

“Er... alright?” Anders shrugged. “I suppose this'll go over better drunk anyway.”

“You may be right about that,” Fenris agreed.

The woman laughed, gripping both their shoulders with a wide grin. “Look at you two, best friends. Alcohol brings everyone together. We should've done this ages ago.”

They all took their drinks, and the woman whooped happily.

“So we were actually hoping to chat with you for minute,” started Anders. “We've got ourselves in a bit of bind, it seems.”

“Ooh, I hope that's _not_ a euphemism.”

Anders chuckled and said, “Sorry to disappoint. As a matter of fact, we've both lost our memories.”

“I'm not buying that 'til you had at least ten more shots,” said the woman, promptly ordering them another round. “Well, maybe five for Anders. Sorry, darling, but if you're not a lightweight, I'll eat my boot.”

“I resent that,” said Anders, quickly taking his next drink. “But I'm quite serious about the memory thing. We woke up in a sewer. Don't remember a thing about ourselves. We were hoping you might be able to help.”

The woman gave them a considering look. “Well,” she said with a shrug. “Stranger things have happened, haven't they? Have they? I can't think of any just now.”

“Neither can I,” said Fenris.

“Ah, well. That's life for you.” She suddenly adopted a wicked look. “But of course you two remember that you're deeply, passionately in love, right? You couldn't possibly forget that.”

“The wedding rings did clue us in, yes.”

She did a double take. Fenris thought he saw her do something strange with her hands, but the movement was too quick to catch.

“Yes, those wedding rings,” she said, nodding vehemently. “Gorgeous, aren't they?”

“You wouldn't happen to know how long we've been married, would you?” asked Anders.

“Oh, at least...” The woman counted on her fingers. “Four years? It was gorgeous ceremony. Beautiful. I can't believe you don't remember it.”

“Well, we'd like to,” said Anders, getting back on track. “I don't suppose you could help with that?”

“I'd be happy to, love.” She reached out to pinch Anders' cheek before gesturing widely to the staircase. “Come on up. Varric _has_ to hear this.”

Fenris moved to follow, and Anders called out, “Wait up, Hawke!”

***

“Hang on a tick,” Hawke interrupted, outraged, “Isabela was pretending to be _me_? And wait, why do people think I'm a drunk?”

That... really wasn't all that surprising, when she thought about it.

“So _you're_ Hawke?” Anders clarified.

“Of course I am! I offed the bloody Arishok, didn't I?” Hawke huffed. “That's it. We're getting Isabela in here.”

“I doubt she's finished with that redhead,” Varric warned. “It's only been an hour.”

“I don't care who or what Isabela's shagging. She's got _me_ to answer to.”

With that, Hawke stood from the table. She threw open Varric's door and stomped across the hall, pounding hard on Isabela's door.

“Open up, you naughty, lying pirate!” she demanded.

“That's redundant, sweet thing,” came the answer.

“Open this door, or I'll come in there and drag you out in the buff!”

“You're such a sweet talker.”

“ _Isabela!_ ”

“Oh, alright. Give me a minute, will you?”

Feminine moans came from the other side of the door, increasing in volume as Hawke waited. She tapped her foot impatiently. A few seconds later, the door opened to reveal Isabela in rumpled clothing, licking her lips.

“Back in few, love,” she called behind her as she closed the door.

Hawke crossed her arms. “So,” she started, not wasting a second. “Seen Anders and Fenris lately?”

“Who?” asked Isabela innocently.

“You pretended to be me and told them they were married!” Hawke whispered furiously, aware of Varric's open door a few feet away.

Isabela shrugged and said, “I didn't tell them that. I just didn't see the point in correcting them.”

“You _didn't see the point_?”

“They're adorable together,” Isabela insisted. “You wouldn't want to ruin their happiness, would you? That would just be heartless.”

“They don't have any memories! You didn't think that this was something you should _tell_ me about?”

“Oh, it wasn't like that,” said Isabela, waving her hand.

Hawke grabbed her by the arm. “Well, you're going to explain exactly what it _was_ like, then. Come on.”

“If this is what it takes for you to manhandle me,” said Isabela, “I'm going to start telling everyone they're married.”

Hawke dragged her into Varric's suite and sat her down. She greeted everyone cheerfully, ignoring Hawke's pointed looks until Hawke reached over and tugged on her earlobe.

“Rawr,” said Isabela playfully, batting her hand away. “Alright, then. Let's get one thing straight: beneath my tough, sexy exterior, I really am just a _hopeless_ romantic.”

***

Isabela was drunk, probably. Or maybe not. Sometimes the room just spun like that anyway.

She burst through the door to Varric's suite. “Varric!” she called in a singsong tone. “I've got a present for you!”

“Please tell me it's a bottle of something strong,” sighed Varric, looking up from the pile of papers on the table.

“It's two tall glasses of sexy and adorable,” said Isabela. She pointed towards Anders, then Fenris. “This one's adorable, that one's sexy. Sorry, Anders. That electricity trick is really something, but you're sort of like a kitten. I want to scratch your little head and feed you milk from my nipples.”

Anders snorted, flushing a pretty pink. Then he ignored her. Rude.

“Come on in, Blondie, Broody,” said Varric. “I wasn't getting any work done anyway.”

Anders inspected a lock of his hair, then looked to Fenris and said, “I guess that makes you Broody.”

Fenris grunted, rather proving the point.

Isabela flopped into a chair next to Varric. “Aren't they just our favorite happily-married lovebirds?” she asked, pointing to her own bare finger. Varric raised an eyebrow but apparently got the hint, pocketing his own ring. Varric was the tits.

“Of course,” said Varric smoothly, eying the way Fenris pulled out a chair for Anders. Anders grinned a bit stupidly before sitting down. Varric shot Isabela a questioning look, and she winked.

“We've got to tell them all about their lovely wedding four years ago, because you see, they don't _remember_ it.” She smirked. “In fact, they don't remember anything at all.”

“Huh. And how exactly did this happen?” asked Varric.

“Who cares?” said Isabela gleefully. “They're amnesiacs! This is going to be such fun.”

***

“And then, of course, we had to get Merrill involved-”

“ _Merrill?_ ” Hawke repeated.

No. Surely her sweet Merrill wasn't in on this. They shared everything! Merrill, bless her, couldn't keep a secret to save her life.

“Oh, I remember Merrill,” said Anders fondly. “Nice girl. Bit scatterbrained, though, isn't she?”

Hawke put her head in her hands and muttered, “Andraste's sweet arse-crack.”

“We met her the next day, actually,” Anders went on.

***

After a late night at The Hanged Man, Isabela and Varric showed them home. Anders thanked them, drunkenly propped against Fenris, who half-dragged him into a run-down estate.

“I'm not very good at keeping house, am I?” Anders murmured. “I'm probably busy healing people. Do you have a job, Fenris? Maybe _you_ should clean the house, you layabout.”

“Stay here,” said Fenris, lowering him into moth-eaten chair. “I'll find the bedroom.”

“Are we going to have sex now?” Anders shouted after him. Fenris didn't answer.

He wasn't really sure how he got into bed, but he was there, and he was dressed in a soft pair of trousers. And shirtless. He ran a hand through the blond hair on his chest. It felt nice.

“Go to sleep,” said somebody, probably Fenris.

Anders pouted. “But we didn't have sex yet.”

“And we're not going to.”

“Why not? Are we in a fight?” Anders searched for Fenris in the bed, wrapping an arm snugly around his waist. “I don't want to be in a fight.”

“You're drunk, Anders. Go to sleep.”

Anders leaned forward to kiss his jaw and say, “I want you to fuck me. I've been thinking about it all day.”

***

“Do we really need to hear this part?” asked Hawke, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Varric and Isabela together. Isabela grinned wickedly and said, “Go on, Anders.”

***

They didn't have sex that night. Or the next morning.

***

“Hey,” Isabela protested. “Don't just skip over that bit.”

“Please do,” said Fenris.

Anders leaned over to peck his lips. “Whatever you say, love.”

***

Despite Anders' drunken charm, Fenris would not have sex with him. Anders was a bit embarrassed in the morning, but he woke up with a gorgeous elf in his arms, so he found it rather difficult to be upset about anything.

It was a bit awkward, getting dressed and having breakfast as if they did it every day when they didn't remember the routine. Anders tried to keep talking, so there wouldn't just be silence.

“I think we should see Hawke and Varric again,” he suggested as they munched on bread and cheese over the dining table. “Maybe they'll help us investigate the sewer, see if we can find any clues about what happened.”

“I imagine they'll need a few hours to recover first,” said Fenris. “You, however, seem to be in perfect health.”

“Hmm?” Now that Anders thought about it, he didn't feel hungover at all. And he'd had rather a lot to drink. He shrugged. “I must've healed myself. Maybe I can do the same for them.”

“That would be useful.”

Anders nodded happily. “Right? I'm all for this mage thing.” He finished his meal, gulping down a glass of milk. “Should we go now?”

“Let's not waste time,” Fenris agreed. “The sooner we can fix this, the better.”

So they went back to the tavern and managed to rouse Varric and Isabela. They both agreed to help, rather enthusiastically in fact, and the whole group of them stopped by Hightown to pick up someone called 'Daisy,' who turned out to be Merrill.

Varric waited outside the Hightown estate with Anders and Fenris while Isabela scaled the side of the building. She disappeared through a window.

“Is she breaking in?” asked Anders.

Varric chuckled and replied, “That's how she says hello.”

Isabela came through the front door a few minutes later with a confused Dalish elf, who looked at Anders and Fenris with wide green eyes.

“Hello!” she chirped. “It's good to see you two lovely husbands. How's your, um, marriage?”

“Fairly good, considering we don't remember most of it,” said Anders.

“Oh, that's very funny,” said Merrill, giggling. “That must be why you married him, Fenris. He's so funny and kind, and he doesn't judge anybody for using different sorts of magic. Right?”

“Er... right.”

Merrill looked pleased. “Oh, good. So we're going to find your memories now, yes? Are you sure you want them back?” Isabela grabbed her shoulder pointedly, turning it into a friendly pat. “Oh, I mean. It's just. You're so _nice_ like this.”

“Right then, let's be off,” said Isabela, linking arms with Merrill and pulling her ahead of the group.

They were unable to find much in the sewers, until Anders led them to his broken staff. There Merrill apparently picked up traces of “strange” magic. She mumbled to herself for a few minutes before telling them it was inconclusive.

“If I could just peek inside one of your heads-” started Merrill, and Varric cut her off.

“Not the best idea, Daisy. How about you just see if you can find any other magical... things.”

“Signatures,” Merrill supplied. “The staff's mostly got your signature, Anders, but there's something just not _right_ in it. Do you remember where Hawke got it from?”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Can't say that I do.”

“Oh, right.” Merrill slapped a palm to her forehead. “Sorry. I forgot. Well, see, if she took it from somebody we killed, it might've been used for blood magic before. That wouldn't affect _your_ magic, but maybe if someone used blood magic _on_ you, the staff would want to belong to them, you see? Blood magic's a bit funny like that. Of course, it's perfectly safe if you know what you're doing-”

“Kitten,” Isabela interrupted sweetly. “I think I saw something glittering just over there.”

“Glittering? Where?”

Isabela led her away.

“So we were attacked by a blood mage?” asked Fenris. He didn't look very happy with the idea.

“That's what it sounds like,” said Anders. He could sort of follow what Merrill was saying, although he was pretty sure he'd never heard of a staff with a mind of its own. “Really powerful magic _could_ have an effect like this. I think.”

“We need to find the blood mage,” said Fenris firmly.

Anders ran a hand through his hair. “Well, that'd certainly be helpful. I wonder why they didn't just kill us.”

“Ever stop to think you were the ones doing the chasing?” Varric suggested.

“Is that the sort of thing we'd do?” asked Anders.

Varric chuckled and said, “Lately? Yeah. In fact, Hawke's been tracking down a few of them for Meredith. There was supposed to be one in Darktown, but we never did find her. Not that we looked all that hard.”

***

“Evelina?” Hawke interrupted. “That was the one in Darktown.”

“That's what I thought,” said Varric. “I've been trying to track her down since then, but I figure she ran.”

Hawke really wasn't broken up about the fact that another mage was free of the Circle, but if Evelina had attacked Anders and Fenris, she was definitely on Hawke's shit list.

“So if Anders and Fenris were chasing Evelina...” Hawke drummed her fingers on the table. “Does that mean? Oh. Fenris _was_ a bit miffed when I stopped looking for her, wasn't he? Maybe he started looking.”

“With Anders?” asked Varric skeptically.

“That _is_ strange,” Hawke agreed, forgetting for a moment that Anders and Fenris were both in the room. When Varric cleared his throat she jumped. “Oh! Right. It's strange because...” She tried to think up a reason, then deflated with a sigh. “I can't do this anymore. The lies are eating me alive. _Merrill's_ better at lying than I am. How in the Void does that work?”

“I knew you were hiding something,” said Fenris.

“That was obvious,” said Anders. His voice was gentler than Fenris'. “Why don't you tell us what it is, Hawke? It might help.”

Hawke buried her face in her hands. “No, no, it really won't, because that part _is_ my fault. Even if you were attacked by a blood mage and accidentally had your memories erased, and my rings had nothing to do with it, it's still my fault that you think you're married. Which you're not, by the way.”

“Well, yes, we'd figured that out,” said Anders.

She peeked through her fingers to see their hands clasped atop the table. She pointed at them and asked, “Then what is _that_?”

Anders' brow furrowed. “Well, obviously we were still _together,_ even though these aren't wedding rings.”

“Obviously?” Hawke repeated. “ _Obviously?_ The two of you-”

Isabela's hand clapped over her mouth. “Are clearly very deeply in love, and we wouldn't dare do anything to spoil their happiness, _would_ we, Hawke?”

Hawke shook her off. “What, so we'll just leave them oblivious forever? Never even _try_ to get their memories back?”

“You said you already knew how to get our memories back,” Fenris reminded her.

Hawke clapped her own hand over her mouth this time. Maker _dammit._ She slowly dropped her hand and said, “I'm sorry. I really don't. I just didn't want you to be-”

She stopped. Backed up a little. Because there was something she was missing, here.

“Maker's bollocks,” she murmured. “The glowy bit. That was Grace's glowy bit. And then I did that thing with the, and, and the rings, oh, and then Fenris... _Maker's bollocks_ , oh, I wasn't _listening_ , he was going on about mages, I never listen when he goes on like that-”

“Hawke,” said Isabela, “ _breathe_.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, bollocks. It's all my fault. Oh, fuck.”

Isabela rubbed her back soothingly. She tried to breathe. Oh, she tried. But this really was all her fault.

\- - -

Anders really didn't understand a word of what Hawke was muttering. Nobody else seemed to, either, until Isabela went to fetch Merrill. Anders didn't understand what she said, either, but the two of them seemed to understand each other.

While they were chattering, going a mile a minute and constantly interrupting each other, Isabela suggested that he and Fenris go home. She promised to come and get them whenever Hawke and Merrill figured things out.

“You're quiet,” Fenris remarked as they walked home.

Anders glanced down at their joined hands. “I was just... thinking,” he said uncertainly.

“About?”

“You know.” Anders shrugged. “Things.”

Fenris sighed and asked, “How is it that you talk constantly, yet I can never get a straight answer out of you?”

“Sorry,” whispered Anders.

Fenris stopped. He pulled Anders off to the side, letting people walk past them. “Don't apologize,” he said gently, brushing Anders' hair back from his face. “Just tell me.”

Instead of answering, Anders asked, “What are _you_ thinking?”

“That you're a stubborn fool,” said Fenris with a fond look. “And that I'm quite pleased to have mistaken you for my husband.”

“That's not fair,” Anders whined.

“Not fair?”

“No.” He leaned forward, dropping his forehead on Fenris' shoulder. Fenris' arms encircled his waist, holding him snugly. “You can't just say nice things to me to get what you want.”

“Oh? Should I say naughty things instead?” asked Fenris.

Anders laughed weakly. “Stop. You're too wonderful. Stop being wonderful.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because it makes the thought of losing you unbearable.”

Fenris tightened his grip. “You're not going to lose me,” he said into Anders' ear.

“But what if this goes wrong?” Once that was out, the rest of Anders' worries followed in a rush. “What if we can't get our memories back? What if we get them back and figure out our relationship was terrible? What if getting them back means we lose _these_ memories?”

“I will not forget you,” said Fenris firmly.

“You don't _know_ that.” Anders pulled away so he could look into Fenris' eyes. “This could all go terribly wrong. There are a thousand ways it could go wrong. And I just... I don't know what I'm going to do if it does.”

“We'll figure it out when we get there. There is no point in worrying about things that may or may not happen. All you can do is prepare as much as you are able, and hope that when the time comes to face the tiger, you are strong enough.”

“What if I'm not? Then I get eaten by a tiger?”

“There is nothing more you can do, Anders.” Fenris' hand cupped his face, thumb gently brushing his cheek. “You must accept that. Fate will decide the rest.”

“Oh, damn fate,” said Anders. He surged forward to kiss Fenris hard. “I'm keeping you,” he said decidedly. “If fate has a problem with that, she can go straight to the Void.”

\- - -

“Explain it _slowly_ , Hawke,” said Varric.

Fenris ran his thumb gently along the back of Anders' hand, and Anders gave him a grateful smile.

They were all gathered in the library of Hawke's estate. Fenris and Anders shared part of a sofa, and Varric sat on the other end. Isabela was draped suggestively over an armchair. Hawke and Merrill were cross-legged on the floor, various magical items and some type of glowing glyph surrounding them. Fenris eyed it warily.

“Okay. So.” Hawke took a breath and started far too quickly, “So there was this blood mage. Grace. This daft cow who kidnapped my brother-”

“Hawke,” said Merrill gently.

Hawke's expression twisted. “Right. Sorry. Grace was a blood mage, and I killed her, so I got her stuff. She had this staff with a glowy bit on it. I took off the glowy bit and put it on another staff, and then I took another bit from a different staff-”

She cut herself off this time, clearing her throat before she went on.

“Point is, I made this staff. And I didn't realize I shouldn't put glowy blood mage bits onto a regular staff. So it was, er... unstable. I used the staff to enchant your rings. But I'd made it as a present for Anders, see, so I gave it to him after.” She brightened a little and looked at Anders. “You really liked it, by the way. It was nice. It was glowy and pretty, and you said it was the poshest staff _ever_.”

“It was thoughtful of you to make me a gift, Hawke,” said Anders.

Fenris grunted. Anders shot him a pointed look, and he settled.

“So then Fenris came over to the estate one day to tell me something, and I, er...” She glanced up at Fenris, then immediately ducked her head. “I was doing a thing with dragon scales and lyrium dust-”

“ _Hawke_ ,” said Merrill with reproach. “You promised not to use lyrium dust anymore. Don't you remember what happened to that poor cat?”

“Tabbytha is fine!” she shouted. “She's perfectly happy the way she is! Anyway,” she continued quickly, before Merrill could argue, “I was doing a thing, so I wasn't really listening, and I think Fenris got sort of upset and left, only I didn't really notice he'd left so I was talking to myself for a bit, and I thought he was just being very quiet.

“But what I _think_ happened is he found Evelina, because I remember him saying her name at one point. And Evelina was this mage that escaped the Circle, and I was supposed to find her and bring her back, only I didn't. I wanted to let her get away, and Fenris wasn't happy about that, so he must've tracked her down.

“So since _I_ wasn't listening to him, he went and asked Anders for help. Which, I don't know why Anders agreed, but anyway. Fenris and Anders chased her down into the sewers, and she used blood magic on them, which upset the poor innocent staff, because it couldn't figure out who it belonged to. And then the rings were a bit wonky too, because they were enchanted with a blood mage's glowy bit, and they just didn't know what was going on, so then everything sort of panicked and exploded. And then you lost your memories. And then everyone _lied_ to me and went behind my back-”

“We're very sorry, Hawke,” said Merrill, though she looked to be the only remorseful one. “We shouldn't have lied to you.”

“Oh, tosh.” Isabela gestured at Fenris and Anders. “They were both miserable fools, and we let them be happy. Don't tell me there's a single one of you who wouldn't like to forget their life for a little while.”

Every face in their circle was somber for a moment.

Then Hawke said, “It wasn't your decision to make.”

“And I made it anyway,” said Isabela stubbornly. “Maybe they won't thank me when they remember everything, but they're blissfully, stupidly in love in the meantime. Anders is telling jokes and charming people left and right. Fenris _smiles_. Tell me the last time you saw him smile.”

Another quiet minute passed. Isabela sighed, slumping back into her chair.

“You might not like what I did,” she said, “but I did it for them, and I'm not apologizing.”

“Then that's your decision,” said Hawke quietly. “But I'm going to put them right.”

Merrill's hand reached forward to cover Hawke's. “Is that what _they_ want, vhenan?” she asked gently.

Anders met Fenris' eyes. He could see the worry in them, the fear. He wanted to soothe it and knew he couldn't, and the thought of it pained him.

“Give us a moment,” said Fenris.

“But you can't just-” Hawke protested, and Fenris cut her off, repeating himself in a darker tone.

He heard noise in the background, the sound of Merrill pacifying Hawke, convincing her to leave the room. Varric and Isabela shuffling off. The door to the library closing behind them, leaving him alone with Anders.

“Tell me what you're thinking,” Fenris murmured, his eyes fixed on Anders'.

“I don't know,” Anders whispered. “I just...” He looked away, taking a shaky breath. “Of course I want my memories back. Of course I want to know what sort of man I am, where I've been, what I've done. But...” He looked back up and asked, “Do you think it'll just make us miserable all over again?”

Fenris searched for the right words, and without knowing whether he'd found them, said, “Perhaps. We cannot know. But you can know this: whatever we remember, whatever we forget, nothing will change the fact that I love you here, now. And that means I can love you again.”

“Even if we're just a couple of miserable fools?”

“Even then.”

Anders leaned forward, burying his face in Fenris' neck. He inhaled shakily and said, “I love you, too. And if I ever forget, please just chuck something at my head, because that is maybe the stupidest possible thing I could ever do in my life.”

Fenris chuckled quietly, rubbing Anders' back in slow strokes. “I promise, amatus.”

“What does that mean?” asked Anders.

“I'll tell you when we wake up.”

\- - -

Anders had one _pounding_ headache. He pulled at a thread of healing magic, sighing in relief as it curled around his temples.

His next breath in was sharp and quick, because he _remembered_. It came back to him in sounds and images, all in the brief instant before he opened his eyes.

***

It was one of the slower days at the clinic, and Anders used the downtime to work on his manifesto. It was never complete—there would always be more to add, then remove, then revise, then add again—but he was devoted to the project. Or perhaps Justice was. There was little difference, these days.

He sighed and dropped his quill, leaning over the desk to place his head in his hands. He'd been up most of the night doing work for the Mage Underground, and it was showing. He was a mess. But it would all be over soon. It'd all be worth it.

There was some commotion outside the clinic. Anders frowned, snatching a staff from where it leant up against the wall. Hawke had gifted him this one, and he hadn't used it much since. There was something about it that he couldn't place a finger on, some strange energy that unsettled him. Still, he thought he ought to get used to wielding it, to be gracious. It did look very nice, which was more than he could say for some of Hawke's well-meaning gifts over the years.

He entered the main part of the clinic from his back room to see Fenris shoving through the front doors, a wild look in his eyes. Anders' first thought was that Hawke was dying, and he felt his heart fall down to his feet.

“Where is she?” he asked, starting for the door.

Fenris' brow furrowed for a moment before he said, “This way,” and gestured for Anders to follow.

Maker, _what_ had Hawke gotten herself into this time? And why hadn't she brought him along? Her healing skills were passable, barely, but she could rarely be convinced to use them on herself. Not that Anders could blame her, because he was much the same, but it always made him worry.

He followed Fenris without a word between them until they reached an entrance to the sewers. Fenris turned to say, “Do you know how to navigate these?”

“Of course,” said Anders, although he wasn't about to explain why, “but what's Hawke doing down there?”

“Hawke is at her estate,” snapped Fenris. “We are looking for the blood mage.”

Anders blinked. “What? Hawke's fine? Why did you...?” He took a step back, looking at Fenris like he was mad. Because he was. “Why in the name of Andraste's holiest pair of knickers would you think I'd _ever_ help you track down a runaway mage?”

“Perhaps the fact that she just turned into an abomination and killed two children! I thought you'd heard somehow.” He frowned thoughtfully, then took on an accusing tone. “You came with me!”

“Because I thought Hawke was injured!”

“But a blood mage killing children doesn't concern you?”

“Of course it does, you wanker!” Maker, but he _really_ wanted to hit Fenris over the head sometimes. “But why isn't Hawke here?”

“She's _busy_ ,” Fenris snarled.

Anders deflated, his brows pulling together in concern. “Too busy for a blood mage who's killing children?” he asked.

“She didn't start killing children until I cornered her. She sacrificed them for her magic and fled into the sewers, and she's going to get away if you don't shut up and _help me._ ”

Despite his _tone,_ Anders did help, because Fenris' poor attitude wasn't going to stop him from doing the right thing. He just couldn't imagine why Hawke wouldn't have come. Surely she couldn't be _that_ busy.

They managed to find Evelina's trail and were following it through the sewers when Anders asked, “What's Hawke doing that so important, anyway?”

Fenris sighed shortly. “One of her experiments. I went to her before I knew for certain that Evelina was a blood mage. I'm sure Hawke would've come otherwise.”

“But she didn't even _listen_ to you?”

“Neither did you,” retorted Fenris, “until you'd learned that she had harmed children.”

“Well, to be fair, you do tend to assume that most mages are secretly evil.”

“I know you have no reason to trust me, Anders.”

“That's...” He was about to deny it, but, well.

Fenris chuckled darkly and said, “You see? You only trust me as long as Hawke has my leash.”

“She doesn't keep you on a _leash_ ,” Anders protested, because that really wasn't fair.

“That's not what I...” Fenris sighed irritably. “I meant that you only trust me in battle because you know I will do as Hawke asks, even when we disagree.”

Anders thought it over. He supposed that was the gist of it. He didn't have any apprehension about being alone with Fenris now, but then, that was only because he knew Fenris wouldn't dare to harm him for Hawke's sake.

“Well, not that your explanation is very flattering,” said Anders, “but I think it's fair.”

Fenris snorted. “I would not dare to flatter you, mage.”

“Oh? Think my ego's big enough already, then?”

“It is not your ego that concerns me.”

“Really?” asked Anders with a note of interest. “Perhaps it should. It's rather large.”

“Is it not.”

Anders nearly stopped in place, bewildered. He managed to turn it into a stumble. He played it off with a short laugh. “Maker, Fenris, I never knew you were so funny,” he said dryly. “Forgive me if I bowl over in shock.”

“It was not a joke,” said Fenris mildly. “Your arrogance is an act, and you know it.”

“Oh, do I?” Anders couldn't quite decide whether to be offended.

“You live in Darktown. You heal the poor for free. You give your extra coin to charity. These are not the actions of an arrogant man.”

He really didn't know where this was going, but it couldn't be anywhere good. “Alright. Why are you being so nice to me?” asked Anders suspiciously.

“I am not being _nice_ ,” snapped Fenris.

“You sort of are. You're being nice and friendly and not a complete prick. It's bizarre.”

“I am making an observation.”

“Oh, is that what we're doing now? Making observations?” Two could play that game. Anders rolled up his sleeves. “Well... you're not as scary as you think you are. So there.”

“I am extremely frightening,” Fenris deadpanned. Anders wasn't sure if he meant it or not.

“Oh, yes, with your bright eyes and your swooping hair. Everyone within a mile radius is in serious danger of fatal swooning. How _terrifying_.”

Was he...? No. Anders could see how that _might_ be interpreted as a come-on, but it definitely wasn't.

Fenris didn't respond. Instead he grunted in frustration and said, “The trail's gone cold. We are wandering about uselessly.”

“We could try it again tomorrow,” suggested Anders. “It's not easy for a mage to get out of Kirkwall without help, and it's practically impossible for an abomination.” He raised an eyebrow and added, “Ask how I know.”

Fenris snorted. He seemed surprised by the sound and quickly scowled instead. “Fine,” he said. “Meet me here tomorrow at dawn.”

“Do you even know where 'here' is?” Anders teased, and he couldn't fathom why he was in such a good mood of all a sudden.

“I will find my way,” said Fenris. He turned on his heel and stubbornly walked away.

“You'll get lost,” Anders called after him. He didn't stop. Anders sighed. “Don't be a knobhead. Let me show you out.”

“I don't need your help.”

Anders jogged to his side. “Well, you're getting it anyway, so you'd better shut up and like it.”

They didn't find Evelina the next day. Or the next week. Or the next month. Anders was beginning to think they wouldn't find her at all, until one day, they did.

And it was really a shame, because somewhere in the labyrinth of filthy sewers beneath Darktown, he might've just fallen for a really moody elf with nice hair.

***

Anders' eyes flew open. He was lying on a sofa. In a library. Hawke's library.

Fenris kneeled on the floor, sitting back on his ankles. His expression was blank.

“Good morning?” Anders tried, pulling it up at the end like a question.

Fenris blinked. And then, slowly, he smiled. “Why does this always knock you out? I was hardly unconscious for a minute.”

“Oh, well, _pardon_ me,” said Anders with a scoff. “We can't all be brutish warriors in perfect physical condition.”

The responding eye-roll made him want to burst into laughter for no apparent reason.

He sat up, expecting Fenris to do the same. But Fenris remained on the floor, only reaching up to take Anders' hand in his. His fingers brushed gently over Anders' skin, finally clasping over the engraved band. He pulled the ring off slowly and held it for a moment.

Anders didn't breathe as Fenris removed his own ring. The two of them sat there in the palm of his hand. He looked up at Anders and asked, “Marry me?”

“I...” Anders' eyelashes fluttered. Maker, he'd forgotten how to blink. “I, er...” he stuttered. “Oh, how does that one go? With the words and things. Bollocks. Ah... _yes_! That's the one.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”

“Yes! _Yes,_ you prat, and you're being thick on purpose, aren't you?”

“Am I?”

“Dammit, Fenris, you put that ring on my finger right now, or I swear-”

“What do you swear?”

“Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you.”

“You swear to fuck me?”

“I hate you so much. Nearly as much as I love you.”

“I know, amatus,” said Fenris softly. He slid the ring engraved with his name onto Anders' finger. “My heart.”

\- - -

Later, when Hawke tells the story, she starts it like this:

“So there was this mage with a really brilliant idea...”

Varric starts it like this:

“So there was this broody ex-slave and a lonely rebel mage...”

Anders starts it like this:

“So there was this one time I accidentally married a gorgeous elf...”

And Fenris starts it like this:

“We met, we argued, we fell in love, and then we argued some more. The End.”

 


End file.
